For Mature Readers Only

#3
December '01

Strange Tales Presents

Werewolf by Night

Funeral Song
Part 3

Written by Chris Munn

There used to be a little shop in downtown Manhattan called Sol's Botannicals. It was owned and ran by a beautiful young girl named Roxanna, a girl that could brighten even the darkest room with her smile. She was my world, she was my life...until I disappeared.

Now, six years later, I've finally made my return to New York. Had to do with my father's funeral; don't ask, it's a long story. Been walking for hours, and somehow I've found myself outside the door to her apartment. This is a mistake.

*Knock* *Knock*

This is a big mistake.

"Just a sec!" I hear her yell from behind the door. I brace myself, unsure of what her reaction's gonna be.

The door flies open, the smile beaming from her face. Soon as the realization sets in, though, the smile quickly fades. "Hey you," I say hesitantly.

*SLAP!*

"You son of a bitch! How DARE you show your face here?" she yells. My jaw's still stinging like a motherfucker.

"Nice to see you too, Rox," I say, trying to keep my wit in check. She throws her hands into the air and walks back into her apartment. The door doesn't get slammed in my face, so I take that as an invitation to follow her in.

"I can't believe this, Jack. You disappear for SIX YEARS and then just appear on my doorstep? Are you insane?" She was always cute when she yelled.

"I'm sorry, Roxanna," I say, "but it was something I couldn't help. I had to go away, and there was no way I could get word to you...no matter how badly I wanted to."

"The police were looking for you! I thought you were dead or something..."

"Rox, I'm sorry," I say as I put my arms on her shoulders. That doesn't last long, 'cause soon as I make contact she throws my hands away.

"Get out, Jack Russell. Get out and never come back."

"I expected this reaction," I say as I make my way out the door, "just wanted to let you know I cared."

As I closes the door behind me, I swear I hear something breaking against it. I should have known what was going to happen...but I had to try.

The night air goes through me like a dagger, chilling me to the bone. Normally the weather doesn't bother me, maybe I'm just in shock? I don't know where I'm going, my apartment was foreclosed after I left. The motel I'm staying in is a rat trap, one of those places where you have to fight the roaches for a pillow. They just kind of look at you like 'Hey, I was here first, motherfucker!'

Hmph.

I need to remember that one.

Years ago, I used to live in California. Sun, surf, naked girls walking around the beaches...great place for a twenty-something guy to call his home. For a werewolf? Not so good. Not many places to hide, considering palm trees aren't the most ideal protection against poachers wanting a bit of fur for their trophy room.

There was one good thing about the place, though. I actually had friends there. Sure, they were a bunch of jacked up freaks and ex-criminals. Best friends I've ever had, imagine that.

They called themselves the Night Shift, a bunch of misfit crooks turned vigilante heroes under the guidence of a man called the Shroud. They were good people, and for the first time in my life I felt as if I was fitting in. Like I'd finally found my place in the world, you know?

But anyway, the whole reason I bring it up has to do with a visitor at my motel room. I turn the key, walk in, and almost piss my pants at who I see.

"Hi, Jack," she says as a smile beams from her face, "long time, huh?" She goes by the name Gypsy Moth, due to her power to control fabric and the large butterfly wings attached to her back. She was one of the Night Shift, whom I haven't seen in seven or eight years.

"You can say that again," I respond, still a little dumbfounded, "What are you doing here, Sybil?"

"Heard you were in town," she tells me as she walks over to where I'm standing, her wings folded neatly behind her back, "so I thought I'd stop in and say hello."

A slight laugh escapes my lips as a flash of memory goes by. Gypsy had been a fling back in the Night Shift days, a proper fuck that I'd taken advantage of while the beast was attempting dominance of my personality. Evidently, she thought it was more. Go figure.

"You don't act like you're happy to see me, Jack. What's wrong, just come from a funeral or something?"

"I think it's time to go, Sybil," I say, trying to keep my anger in check, "this isn't a good time."

I feel the tug of her mind pulling on my clothes as she walks by. I want this woman, the wolf wants this woman...but I can't. Not after just seeing Roxanna. Gypsy smiles at me as she pulls her brown hair into a ponytail.

"I live in New York now," she tells me, "stop by when you get a chance."

The door closes behind her, finally relaxing the static in my clothes. That girl was always a firebrand, but Jesus. I fall backwards, doing a big flop onto my shitty motel bed.

I hate this city.

My eyes shoot open, suddenly awake from my not-so-restful sleep. I have nightmares, bad ones, and it's a common occurrence to wake up and find myself covered in sweat. My nose picks up the scent immediately, my head raising quickly to see him sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. Roberto Stolanetti, my dad's executor and all around piece of shit, has somehow made his way inside my room without waking me up. I really need to talk to the owner about getting a new lock on my door.

"How long have you been here?" I ask as I sit up.

"Long enough to see that you have sleeping problems, Jack," he replies as he tosses a manilla folder onto the bed.

"What's this?"

"When we first contacted you, I promised information on Alexander's...your father's...will. He had quite an expansive base of wealth, you know."

"No, I don't know. Fist thing, though, is that his name was Gregor, NOT Alexander. I even know that much, and it annoys the hell out of me every time you say it. Second, my father lost his fortune before he died...the first time."

Stolanetti laughs at my answer. This guy is way too smug for his own good. "What's so funny?"

"You have an inheritence, Jack. To claim it, however, will not be an easy task. There are directions in the folder for where you need to go. Find the answers we both seek, and I'll give you what is yours by birthright. If you fail...well, let's just hope you don't. Oh, and Alexander was his middle name. It's what he liked to go by."

He stands up and walks out of the room, leaving me with a dozen questions in my head. Opening the manilla envelope, a set of pictures and directions fall out. A picture of a castle, followed by a plane ticket...guess I'm leaving New York after all.

Here I thought New York was bad.

The directions were to a castle in Romania, apparently the same one owned by my ancestor Grigori hundreds of years ago. I guess I'm here to uncover some big, bad 'family secret'. Like my family doesn't have one of those, right?

The trek through the Romanian landscape has taken me a few hours, but I should count my blessings. A normal man would have got lost in a heart beat. Always look on the bright side, even if that bright side is about as dark as the devil's armpit hair.

The castle just kind of pops out from behind the hills, like it's inviting me to come take a look. It's been abandoned and derilict for years, but there's a familiar scent in the air. My nose picks up on it immediately, one of those scents I couldn't forget if I tried. Fresh blood.

Grigori Russoff was my great-great grandfather, and according to the legends he was a pretty decent guy. The family curse started with him, back in the eighteenth century, when a werewolf attacked him and his wife outside these very castle walls. He was bit while protecting his wife...how gallant.

Things went downhill for my bloodline from there, but apparently something had kept the wolf in check all those years. Flash forward to my late father, who ran across an ancient book called the Darkhold. This book, supposedly written by some demon around the dawn of time, triggered something inside his genes. The wolf took over, forcing him on a massacre across Romania.

My mom took me and my sister to America shortly after Dad was 'killed' by an angry mob of villagers. So yeah, I'm actually Romanian royalty, the heir to the fortune of Baron Gregor Russoff. I was born with the name Jacob Rossoff, but not many people know that. Russell was my step-father's name, has a much better ring to it I think.

While my dad might have been a man that turned into an animal, my step-father was an animal clothed as a man. He killed my mother, hoping to get to me and the Darkhold. It's real confusing, what with my dad's castle being brought to California and rebuilt, and all the cultish stuff going on inside. Real weird shit.

Story of my life, though. Kind of helps keep things in focus though, relating all of this, as I make my into Grigori's castle walls. I half expect Dracula to jump out at me. I'm not kidding either...I've met Dracula, and he's not a pleasant guy.

I follow the trace smell of blood through the castle, down into the basement dungeon. I think it was like mandatory that every 18th century castle had a dungeon. Fun times, fun times. There's just one thing about this one, though.

It doesn't look that ancient.

The place just reeks of fresh blood, and when I reach the stone altar in the middle of the cermonial circle, I see what my nose has been leading me to. Couple of days old, at least. The liver laying in the corner kind of tips me off that something's up, and that I'm not the only visitor this old place has had recently.

I hear the chanting and the footsteps coming into the castle walls, loud enough for a normal person to hear, not to mention one with my enhanced senses. I survey the room, looking for a place to hide out and get a look-see at what's going down. I'm not worried, though. I've dealt with cultists before, and they all fold the big talk when I let the wolf out of the cage. Climbing up the wall, I settle into a small alcove above and to the left of the altar, giving myself a good vantage point.

Is there also an unspoken rule that all cults must wear black robes? They make their way down into the chamber, the lead guy holding a leash attached to a full grown wolf. The second guy's holding a leash too, only this one's attached to a very naked woman. I can already tell this isn't going to be good.

Before I know it, the woman's spread eagle on the altar, taking it hard from the obviously trained wolf. Let me tell you, beastiality is not something that's fun to watch. I give the wolf credit, though...he's going like a champion. Well, until the cult leader decides to take a huge-ass knife up its back and down around to its stomach. I hate cruelty to animals, but before I can do anything, the scene gets sicker. The girl's still going at, covered in blood and entrails, and seems to be loving every minute of it. These Romanians sure know how to party.

"Turn around."

Uh-oh.

"I said turn around!"

So I turn, just in time to see the bat coming toward my face.

Next Issue: Jack's in deep, a prisoner of the Cult of Nature's Atrocities, with no one to help him but...his father? "Funeral Song" continues next issue, guaranteed to make you wince even more than this one did!